


The Skype date

by AlbieGeorge



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: I think it is, M/M, good guy stu, grumpy jimmy, is this the first tailenders reference in fic?, post-retirement cookerson, silky robes, there's a tag that will never expire, there's a tag that's new for stu's 30s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbieGeorge/pseuds/AlbieGeorge
Summary: For the incredible jiminyneesham, for the prompt set reunion, Harare, bees!? and slips.  The reunion is simply a Skype call between lovers who are very far apart.  Set during the 2018 England tour of Sri Lanka.  Inspired by actual bath robes and Stuart Broad's Instagram.





	The Skype date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiminyneesham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminyneesham/gifts).



Jimmy had never thought that the insistent jingling of an incoming Skype call could make a grin bloom across his face in the way it had started to over the last week or so.  He crossed the room in an attempt at cat-like grace that came out more like gambolling ferret enthusiasm, crashing down next to his laptop which was perched on his side of the bed.  Not that he had a side of the bed on tour any more.  He frowned slightly at that thought as he answered, and stretched out on his side, kicking the pointless runner off the bed impatiently.  _Why did the housekeeper insist on putting it back on every day, anyway?_ he mused, peevishly, as the call connected.  _The amount of soggy bums that have been…_

A small snort of laughter popped his mood as Alastair’s face appeared on the screen, an amused look on his face and one eyebrow raised as he lifted a steaming cup of tea to his lips.

“I mean, I’ll paint you like one of my French girls if you want, Jim,” he said, taking a sip, “But you don’t have to get a boob out quite so early.”

Jimmy looked down to find that the silky yellow hotel robe had slipped off his shoulder in his rush, leaving half of his chest exposed.  He chuckled.

“Sorry, not much to flirt with out here.” He said, yanking the robe up to cover himself up and grinning at Alastair, who pouted slightly at the lost view.

“Have you still got your socks on this time?” he asked, smiling in the sort of fond way that made Jimmy's chest feel weird.

“Took ‘em off, just for you.” He replied, shaking off the rush of affection with a big stage wink.

“And Broady’s not creeping in the corner?” Jimmy laughed more at Alastair trying helplessly to look round the side of his computer screen than the suggestion that Stuart was lounging in the corner of the room like a bond villain, sipping at an espresso and tinkering with his fantasy football team.  Truth was, Stuart had sensed Jimmy’s unease at his first tour without Alastair, and had tackled it so quietly and unselfishly, with quiet trips out for coffee or nights in watching movies, that Jimmy almost wanted to hug the big preening oaf.

“No, he’s playing Fifa with the kids somewhere down the corridor.” Jimmy said with a smile approaching fond.  The far distant sounds of Sam Curran’s voice getting higher and higher told him that Stuart was probably winning.

“He’s been taking care of you.”  Alastair said, without a hint of a question.

“Yeah.” Jimmy replied, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth.  “He’s not even taking the piss that much.  It’s almost… creepy.”

Alastair laughed, and they fell into the groove of old friends catching up.  Alastair told Jimmy about all of the offers of winter cricket he’d got, from Hamilton to Harare.  Jimmy told stories of the tour, complaining, but not without fondness, about the hijinks of the younger lads and about Joe breaking a string trying to demonstrate the perfect cover drive with his guitar.

There was a short silence.  Alastair sighed and ran a hand through his unruly mass of dark hair, an attempt to tame it leaving it sticking out every which way but tidy.  Jimmy closed his eyes, remembering what it felt like to do that.

“I miss you, Jim.”  Alastair said plainly.

“I miss you too.” Jimmy replied.  “I…” he hesitated, “I hadn’t realised that when I turn to run in, I always used to look for you in the slips.”

Jimmy swallowed, watching Alastair press his eyes shut.

“It’ll be OK.” Alastair said, and though he was right, it didn’t sound like he quite believed it yet.

Their second mutual silence was punctured by what Jimmy could only describe as a flypast on his ear.  He squawked and shot to his feet, spinning around the room in search of the offending creature.  He only remembered Alastair was on the line when he heard a muffled voice, the laptop teetering on the edge of the bed, camera pointing at the ceiling.

“Jim?  Jim?!  JIMMY.  Are you OK?”

“A BEE.” Jimmy tried not to yell as he righted his laptop and looked around the room feverishly.  “There’s a motherfucking bee in here the size of a football.”

Alastair laughed, a mixture of relief and mirth.  In the background of his new and wonky Skype view, an angry northern man in a silky robe threatened his unwelcome guest with a cricket pad and plenty of four letter words.  Jimmy appeared from stage right then stood stock-still, eyes wide and pad raised above his head menacingly.

Alastair’s shoulders gently shook with laughter.

“That was one thing I didn’t consider when I retired.  I’ve left you alone to deal with all the flying insects of the world.”

“Well you need to…” he squeaked and ducked, flapping like a madman, “You need to unretire right now and come and deal with this giant fucking hell creature…” The was a short pause and Jimmy looked over at the doors leading out onto the balcony.  The bee made a graceful, arced trajectory straight out of the room, making a right in search of half drunk sticky cocktails or abandoned room service ketchup.

“Oh it’s gone.” he said, suddenly feeling rather foolish.  Jimmy’s hands fell to his sides, and he bit his bottom lip self-consciously.

“Get back into bed.”  Alastair said fondly, and Jimmy, a distant figure on Alastair’s screen across the bedroom, cocked his head to one side and grinned.  “What can I say,” Alastair said smoothly, “I just want to see your boob again.”

Having dropped his robe to the floor, revealing that his socks weren’t the only thing he’d taken off for Alastair, Jimmy flicked the balcony doors shut to quiet the distant sound of a room full of cricketers having their Fifa game interrupted by a bee.


End file.
